Post by Articho Reville on Jul 17, 2016 0:56:41 GMT
Darkness. Articho couldn’t see anything around him, save an infinite, inky blackness. It wasn't cold, though. Articho didn't know what to expect from death, but he had always imagined that it would be cold. Of course, it wasn't really warm, either. It didn't feel like much of anything, except for the odd sensation of rising slowly. So far, there really wasn't a whole lot to death. Nothing around him, very few sensations, and nothing to do but experience the slow rise and reflect on his last moments.
Articho figured the shittiest thing about dying was that he hadn't even had the time to think of really anything other than, Walker, you son of a bitch, before his head decided it wanted permanent separation from his body. No time for mental goodbyes, no time to reflect on his short life up until that point, no time to hope that his parents and loved ones didn't get too sad when news of his passing got back to him. Articho had to laugh at the irony of that part, at least. Walker had been preaching about "protecting his family" and such, but didn't hesitate to separate Articho from his own family. And inputting himself into the situation? None of them really belonged there. The whole mess had happened because Arias had happened to be there with her mate when he was trying to take Konats, to which Articho and Walker had followed. How the Majin had found out, though, was a mystery to him. Presto hadn't had any interaction with her mother since she'd revived up until that moment. He sighed. Nothing he could do about it now, but at least his mistrust in Walker wasn't wrong.
Articho laughed again, though this time it was more in bitterness than in amusement. Thinking about Arias and Presto's relationship brought him back to this own mother and father. They would both be absolutely devastated when they found out that he had died, his mother especially. All those years of trying to raise him right and protect him and here he was, floating in empty blackness. I guess you were right, mom. I finally got myself killed, he thought. A sudden warmth stung his cheek and he reached up to feel it. His hand came away wet. He was crying. He felt his body become completely overcome with wracking sobs. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry... he repeated, over and over again. He cursed his own weakness for being too weak to stand against Walker and he cursed Walker for the grief he had caused his family. His sadness quickly became replaced by a burning rage. Walker would pay for what he'd done. His thoughts shifted from his mother and father to images of him taking his sweet revenge on Walker. Tearing the bark clear from his body. Bludgeoning him with his own wooden limbs. Slowly, ever so slowly, burning him from the bottom up until nothing but charcoal and ashes. As he floated up, he entertained himself with the thoughts of getting revenge on the former caretaker, as well as his son and Presto. Oh yes, he would make them feel the pain his parents's felt and make them suffer for their own hypocrisy.
No, a soft voice said. Articho frowned in confusion. Someone else was here? Killing Walker is not the answer," the voice continued. Articho recognized the voice and tears reformed in his eyes. It was his mother's, though how she was speaking to him, he didn't know. You will accomplish nothing more than starting an endless cycle of life and death between the both of you. Beat him when you come back. Prove yourself the better man. Make me proud, Articho. Articho didn't reply to his mother's voice, simply nodding in response. He knew it couldn't have actually been her and, most likely, it was his own conscience making its presence known, steering him back onto the path that he knew was right. He had to remind himself that killing Walker or any of his allies wouldn't solve the problem.
Articho smiled, a sense of determination filling his chest. He wouldn't kill Walker, but he would make him learn as soon as he got back to the land of the living, like so many before him. As the thought crossed his mind, he paused for a moment. How did anyone come back to life if all death was was this infinite inky darkness. And, almost as if in answer, a light pierced through the darkness. The rising sensation sped up and soon, Articho found himself consumed and blinded by the light.
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Articho woke with a sharp intake of breath. He sat up quickly, blinking rapidly in the sudden bright light. After a moment of recovery, the hybrid's vision had cleared enough for him to finally get a look at his new surroundings. He found himself outside of a large, ornate building with a long, winding road in front it and fluffy clouds sitting beneath it. His mouth hung open in wonder as he looked around the place. His head turned towards the building, only to find a round, blue face inches from his own. Articho shot up into a standing position in surprise, though it didn't feel like he was standing up or even standing on his own two feet. He looked down and saw that beneath his waist weren't legs but a wispy, ghost like tail. His surprise mingled with confusion as he passed his hand through the new appendage when the blue faced creature spoke up.
"Welcome," the creature said. Articho returned his attention to it and gave it a once over. Chubby blue face, horns, white dress shirt, black tie, pants, and shoes. It looked like an...Oni or something. He had heard the term before, but hadn't given it much thought. Now, he was wishing he had.
"Where..." Articho started before the Oni butted in.
"This is the palace of the great King Yemma, where your judgement for the afterlife awaits," the Oni said.
"Afterlife?" Articho asked in confusion. The Oni nodded in response.
"You did die, after all," the Oni said. "A real shame, in my opinion. You're a pretty impressive fighter and you've got a knack for staying alive and keeping your head on-"
The Oni stopped talking suddenly and laughed nervously. Articho frowned at him, rubbing his hand on his neck. "Too soon?" the Oni asked.
"A little," Articho replied dryly. The Oni coughed awkwardly into his hand before continuing.
"Well! Now that you've been brought up to speed, go through those doors and hop in line. Fair warning, it might, uh, it might take a while."
Articho looked towards the doors as the Oni scurried off. After a moment, they creaked open and revealed the interior of the palace. The hybrid groaned in annoyance. The Oni had not been wrong.
Calling the line long was being nice. Hundreds, if not thousands, of clouds floated in front of him, inching along towards a large red Oni with a gavel. He could hear the man's booming voice carrying across the room. Articho raised an eyebrow in confusion. Did the man sound almost...annoyed? Strange. The idea that the otherwordly being could be so...normal, was the best word he could think of, was odd. Then again, he was just murdered by a living tree and his living tree and living piece of gum allies. Articho sighed and stood behind the last cloud. It was going to be a long wait.
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Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned hours. Slowly, the time ticked by and, every so often, Articho would float forward in the line. It didn't take very long for him to lose the last person in line position and not long before that cloud lost it, as well. Just as quickly as people were processed, twice as many joined the line. No wonder the Oni with the gavel sounded annoyed. With all these spirits to process, did he ever get a day off or a break? The hybrid couldn't even imagine doing this job without going insane. He was curious as to how the Oni didn't go insane himself.
He struck up a few conversations with ghosts around him. Or, at least tried to, Both seemed terribly out of wits and unable to figure out what was going on around them. There went one way to pass the time. He let his thoughts wander for some time, thinking of everyone he was close with in the world of the living. Names and faces passed through his mind, halting for a moment on Lhin and Koruso. He grimaced at the thought of the young twins. If Ninjin and Toma ever found out about his passing, it would be hard to explain why Uncle Arti wouldn't be coming by for a while. The names began cycling through again, pausing again at Letu and again at Etoru. He frowned as the list of names finished. He'd left some bad blood between him and a few of the people he had thought of and regreted at not fully fixing the problems he'd left, especially with the people he cared about. He could only hope that none of them pursued Walker in revenge. He was powerful, easily one of the strongest people in the universe. Only a certain few people could take him on and win. He couldn't bear to think of what might happen if someone he loved tried to take on Walker. Articho pushed the thoughts from his mind. He didn't want to stew in bad thoughts for the remainder of his wait.
Articho had found himself counting the cracks in the floor beneath him for a while, listening to the incessant whining of the ghosts around him. It was the same for most of them: complaining about being dead, saying it was a mistake that they were there, droning on and on about their regrets and the people they'd left behind. At least with that, Articho could sympathize, though he didn't plan on simply complaining about his situation. He had seen others return from death to life and he planned on doing the same. Walker was going to learn why it wasn't a good idea to wrong him or his family. Articho grinned at the thought of beating Walker.
Three thousand five hundred and fifty six. That's how many cracks he had counted before he grew bored with the task. By this point, though, he was nearly at the front of the line. The Oni's voice was even louder and more boisterous than when he was at the back and now he could clearly make out what he was asking of the spirits who reached his desk. Telling his best and worst deeds to the giant Oni, who he now had to guess was King Yemma. The hybrid watched as each spirit approached King Yemma and either walked through a door or fell through a hatch in the floor, triggered by a shout of Heaven or Hell from Yemma. The line continued ticking its way down. Articho had a passing worry that he would be sent to hell before he brushed it off. He may have been a dick, but he wasn't a bad person. Pretty soon, it was his turn. Articho craned his neck up to look at the giant Oni.
"Wow. It must have been a nightmare for your mother when you were born," Articho commented with an impressed whistle. He crossed his arms as his expression turned thoughtful. "So. My best and worst deeds," he said, scratching his chin. "Well, I guess my best deed was stopping the destruction of Satan City and defending Earth from the Saiyan invasion." He felt his chest swell up with pride when he said it, but he continued. His brow knit in frustration when he tried to think of what his worst deed was. What was the worst thing he had done? He had terrified Zerori that one time, but that wasn't really his fault since she couldn't fly, was scared of heights and needed to travel by air. It wasn't even that bad, either. "My worst deed is..." he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, "when I was four, I took a cookie from my mother's cookie jar without permission." It was kind of a lame worst deed, but he couldn't think of anything super terrible that he had done.
"I have to ask, though," he continued after a moment. "How do you do this everyday without losing it?"
King Yemma
Articho figured the shittiest thing about dying was that he hadn't even had the time to think of really anything other than, Walker, you son of a bitch, before his head decided it wanted permanent separation from his body. No time for mental goodbyes, no time to reflect on his short life up until that point, no time to hope that his parents and loved ones didn't get too sad when news of his passing got back to him. Articho had to laugh at the irony of that part, at least. Walker had been preaching about "protecting his family" and such, but didn't hesitate to separate Articho from his own family. And inputting himself into the situation? None of them really belonged there. The whole mess had happened because Arias had happened to be there with her mate when he was trying to take Konats, to which Articho and Walker had followed. How the Majin had found out, though, was a mystery to him. Presto hadn't had any interaction with her mother since she'd revived up until that moment. He sighed. Nothing he could do about it now, but at least his mistrust in Walker wasn't wrong.
Articho laughed again, though this time it was more in bitterness than in amusement. Thinking about Arias and Presto's relationship brought him back to this own mother and father. They would both be absolutely devastated when they found out that he had died, his mother especially. All those years of trying to raise him right and protect him and here he was, floating in empty blackness. I guess you were right, mom. I finally got myself killed, he thought. A sudden warmth stung his cheek and he reached up to feel it. His hand came away wet. He was crying. He felt his body become completely overcome with wracking sobs. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry... he repeated, over and over again. He cursed his own weakness for being too weak to stand against Walker and he cursed Walker for the grief he had caused his family. His sadness quickly became replaced by a burning rage. Walker would pay for what he'd done. His thoughts shifted from his mother and father to images of him taking his sweet revenge on Walker. Tearing the bark clear from his body. Bludgeoning him with his own wooden limbs. Slowly, ever so slowly, burning him from the bottom up until nothing but charcoal and ashes. As he floated up, he entertained himself with the thoughts of getting revenge on the former caretaker, as well as his son and Presto. Oh yes, he would make them feel the pain his parents's felt and make them suffer for their own hypocrisy.
No, a soft voice said. Articho frowned in confusion. Someone else was here? Killing Walker is not the answer," the voice continued. Articho recognized the voice and tears reformed in his eyes. It was his mother's, though how she was speaking to him, he didn't know. You will accomplish nothing more than starting an endless cycle of life and death between the both of you. Beat him when you come back. Prove yourself the better man. Make me proud, Articho. Articho didn't reply to his mother's voice, simply nodding in response. He knew it couldn't have actually been her and, most likely, it was his own conscience making its presence known, steering him back onto the path that he knew was right. He had to remind himself that killing Walker or any of his allies wouldn't solve the problem.
Articho smiled, a sense of determination filling his chest. He wouldn't kill Walker, but he would make him learn as soon as he got back to the land of the living, like so many before him. As the thought crossed his mind, he paused for a moment. How did anyone come back to life if all death was was this infinite inky darkness. And, almost as if in answer, a light pierced through the darkness. The rising sensation sped up and soon, Articho found himself consumed and blinded by the light.
----------------------------
Articho woke with a sharp intake of breath. He sat up quickly, blinking rapidly in the sudden bright light. After a moment of recovery, the hybrid's vision had cleared enough for him to finally get a look at his new surroundings. He found himself outside of a large, ornate building with a long, winding road in front it and fluffy clouds sitting beneath it. His mouth hung open in wonder as he looked around the place. His head turned towards the building, only to find a round, blue face inches from his own. Articho shot up into a standing position in surprise, though it didn't feel like he was standing up or even standing on his own two feet. He looked down and saw that beneath his waist weren't legs but a wispy, ghost like tail. His surprise mingled with confusion as he passed his hand through the new appendage when the blue faced creature spoke up.
"Welcome," the creature said. Articho returned his attention to it and gave it a once over. Chubby blue face, horns, white dress shirt, black tie, pants, and shoes. It looked like an...Oni or something. He had heard the term before, but hadn't given it much thought. Now, he was wishing he had.
"Where..." Articho started before the Oni butted in.
"This is the palace of the great King Yemma, where your judgement for the afterlife awaits," the Oni said.
"Afterlife?" Articho asked in confusion. The Oni nodded in response.
"You did die, after all," the Oni said. "A real shame, in my opinion. You're a pretty impressive fighter and you've got a knack for staying alive and keeping your head on-"
The Oni stopped talking suddenly and laughed nervously. Articho frowned at him, rubbing his hand on his neck. "Too soon?" the Oni asked.
"A little," Articho replied dryly. The Oni coughed awkwardly into his hand before continuing.
"Well! Now that you've been brought up to speed, go through those doors and hop in line. Fair warning, it might, uh, it might take a while."
Articho looked towards the doors as the Oni scurried off. After a moment, they creaked open and revealed the interior of the palace. The hybrid groaned in annoyance. The Oni had not been wrong.
Calling the line long was being nice. Hundreds, if not thousands, of clouds floated in front of him, inching along towards a large red Oni with a gavel. He could hear the man's booming voice carrying across the room. Articho raised an eyebrow in confusion. Did the man sound almost...annoyed? Strange. The idea that the otherwordly being could be so...normal, was the best word he could think of, was odd. Then again, he was just murdered by a living tree and his living tree and living piece of gum allies. Articho sighed and stood behind the last cloud. It was going to be a long wait.
---------------------------
Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned hours. Slowly, the time ticked by and, every so often, Articho would float forward in the line. It didn't take very long for him to lose the last person in line position and not long before that cloud lost it, as well. Just as quickly as people were processed, twice as many joined the line. No wonder the Oni with the gavel sounded annoyed. With all these spirits to process, did he ever get a day off or a break? The hybrid couldn't even imagine doing this job without going insane. He was curious as to how the Oni didn't go insane himself.
He struck up a few conversations with ghosts around him. Or, at least tried to, Both seemed terribly out of wits and unable to figure out what was going on around them. There went one way to pass the time. He let his thoughts wander for some time, thinking of everyone he was close with in the world of the living. Names and faces passed through his mind, halting for a moment on Lhin and Koruso. He grimaced at the thought of the young twins. If Ninjin and Toma ever found out about his passing, it would be hard to explain why Uncle Arti wouldn't be coming by for a while. The names began cycling through again, pausing again at Letu and again at Etoru. He frowned as the list of names finished. He'd left some bad blood between him and a few of the people he had thought of and regreted at not fully fixing the problems he'd left, especially with the people he cared about. He could only hope that none of them pursued Walker in revenge. He was powerful, easily one of the strongest people in the universe. Only a certain few people could take him on and win. He couldn't bear to think of what might happen if someone he loved tried to take on Walker. Articho pushed the thoughts from his mind. He didn't want to stew in bad thoughts for the remainder of his wait.
Articho had found himself counting the cracks in the floor beneath him for a while, listening to the incessant whining of the ghosts around him. It was the same for most of them: complaining about being dead, saying it was a mistake that they were there, droning on and on about their regrets and the people they'd left behind. At least with that, Articho could sympathize, though he didn't plan on simply complaining about his situation. He had seen others return from death to life and he planned on doing the same. Walker was going to learn why it wasn't a good idea to wrong him or his family. Articho grinned at the thought of beating Walker.
Three thousand five hundred and fifty six. That's how many cracks he had counted before he grew bored with the task. By this point, though, he was nearly at the front of the line. The Oni's voice was even louder and more boisterous than when he was at the back and now he could clearly make out what he was asking of the spirits who reached his desk. Telling his best and worst deeds to the giant Oni, who he now had to guess was King Yemma. The hybrid watched as each spirit approached King Yemma and either walked through a door or fell through a hatch in the floor, triggered by a shout of Heaven or Hell from Yemma. The line continued ticking its way down. Articho had a passing worry that he would be sent to hell before he brushed it off. He may have been a dick, but he wasn't a bad person. Pretty soon, it was his turn. Articho craned his neck up to look at the giant Oni.
"Wow. It must have been a nightmare for your mother when you were born," Articho commented with an impressed whistle. He crossed his arms as his expression turned thoughtful. "So. My best and worst deeds," he said, scratching his chin. "Well, I guess my best deed was stopping the destruction of Satan City and defending Earth from the Saiyan invasion." He felt his chest swell up with pride when he said it, but he continued. His brow knit in frustration when he tried to think of what his worst deed was. What was the worst thing he had done? He had terrified Zerori that one time, but that wasn't really his fault since she couldn't fly, was scared of heights and needed to travel by air. It wasn't even that bad, either. "My worst deed is..." he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, "when I was four, I took a cookie from my mother's cookie jar without permission." It was kind of a lame worst deed, but he couldn't think of anything super terrible that he had done.
"I have to ask, though," he continued after a moment. "How do you do this everyday without losing it?"
King Yemma